Territory
by StrangeAffinity
Summary: He belonged to the house of the serpent. He didn't want her.
1. Free Chocolate

**Territory**

Chapter One - Free Chocolate

Authors Notes - (if you don't care about details, please skip) I wrote this first chapter before the release of the Sixth book, and decided I didn't particularly care to make changes to it after reading HBP. Since I knew little about Snape's parents I decided to just not mention them, and the fact that he knew the Malfoys and the Blacks previously was just a guess as well. Now, it's debatable weather Snape even knew he was a wizard before he got the letter, but since there seems to be a lack of concrete information, I decided that for my story, in future chapters, his family will be aware that his mother is a witch. You will also notice that I won't dwell on the fact that our Potions Master clearly comes from annot nicefamily. That is not the subject of my story, and I feel that other writers have probably touched on the issue enough. I also apologize in advance if I screw up the canon in any other way.

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The mud sucked hungrily at his shoes as he walked through the street. The rain was pouring down in hard sheets now, and he could hardly tell where he was going. The sun was gone, and the morning was one big cloud. All the world was stale and grey. Like the inside of a puddle. Like the taste of molding bread. Like the inside of his mind. In and out was all the same today.

He knew his new robe was trailing in pools of tepid water. If he wasn't in such a hurry, he would have taken more care to avoid them. The sharp black folds of cloth that had been neatly stitched to fit his exact measurements were damp and frosty on his skin. He'd been so eager to wear it, no matter what the weather brought him, and wear it he did. He didn't even care about the odd looks he was getting.

The outfit had looked so promising, pressed and folded at the foot of his bed last night. A robe made for him. The balmy fabric seemed to hum beneath his fingers, icy smooth and crow's wing sleek. He remembered pulling the whispering fabric over his head that morning. He remembered how it fit like a warm hug over his shoulders. The sleeves just the right length at the arms. The hem only a fingernail's width above the ground. He felt perfectly sheltered in its embrace. Perfectly accommodated and perfectly ambiguous. Almost every inch of his skin was shrouded in the complete cocoon of black. Cool, dark, and dry. Never worn before. The robe he would wear at the beginning of his new life.

His bulky brown trunk squelched through the muck behind him, wheels screeching in protest every time they bumped over a curb. He didn't notice how ponderous the weight was anymore. He only knew he had to get to the station on time. He must.

He stumbled into a rather large puddle that sloshed up to his knees. Soaking tentacles of hair flew forward and plastered themselves to his face. He growled and blindly dragged the trunk right on through. Squish. Splash. Splosh. His shoes probably held about a gallon of water each now. And maybe some fish.

A smartly dressed woman coming out of a store stopped and eyed him curiously. Once she realized that the floundering spidery thing with pasty limbs was a boy, she gave him a look of distaste and marched onward, umbrella tilted delicately. A purple polyester plume for a pompous peacock.

A feeling heavier than his soaked clothes settled over him. He scowled after her and pulled his hood over his face. He wished he could brain her with his trunk for that look. The look everybody gave him. The look he could still see behind his closed eyelids. The look he couldn't swallow with any amount of sugar.

He slithered on.

He finally reached the station and practically collapsed at the threshold. The air was warm inside the doors, and he was mercifully out of the rain. At King's Cross, at last. He pushed his hood back and brushed the hair out of his face. The water felt oily between his fingers. Like salad dressing. His robe was still wet against him. He shivered and looked around.

His stomach lurched painfully into his throat. He shut his mouth, and his breathing accelerated, coming swiftly through his nose. His mind was starting to turn grey with fear. He braced himself against the nearest wall and dug his nails into the brick. He didn't see any platforms with fractional numbers. But he could only see platforms one and two from where he stood. Maybe. . .

He bolted forward with renewed vigor, and the trunk thumped violently after him. The world swam, and the blood pounded in his ears. What would he do if it wasn't there?

He came to a crashing halt and felt like dropping to his knees. There was platform nine. There was platform ten. There was nothing in-between. People continued to race around back and forth in both directions, oblivious to the boy who had lost everything he hung his feeble hopes on. All his life he waited. He ran through the rain to get here.

And there was nothing.

Maybe the train had already left. Maybe they made a mistake in the selection process. He hadn't shown any real potential as far as real wizards go, and they decided they didn't want him after all. They didn't want useless nobodies who looked like drowned spiders.

He could see all the privileged and gifted students getting on the train now. Laughing. Smiling. Kissing their parents goodbye. And he could see the train leaving with everybody onboard. Excited. Anticipating. Bound for Hogwarts. Never knowing they left anybody behind.

"Are you lost?"

He jumped and teetered backwards, nearly losing his balance. His shoes squeaked and skidded, but he managed to gracelessly catch himself on the handle of his trunk.

The girl who had spoken to him appeared completely out of nowhere. Or maybe she hadn't. He could see how he might have missed her. She was a tiny slip of a girl who looked like she could be his age, but he wasn't quite sure because she was so small. Her hair was a lion's mane of red curls, and her eyes were as brazenly green as the horrid corduroys she was sporting. A cacophony of colors that was agony to the eyes. He began to back slowly away. She didn't look like she could help him with his particular problem.

"I'm sorry I surprised you," She smiled congenially and offered her hand.

He stared at the offending fingers she'd jabbed into his personal space as if they were a particularly contagious and deadly disease. He shoved his own hands deep into his pockets. An oily bead of water trickled down the end of his nose and dripped to the floor.

The girl continued right on, oblivious to the fact that she still had her hand out and it wasn't being received, "I knew there would be some people who couldn't find the platform. I mean, I'm lucky I found it. So I came out to see if anybody needed help, and I found you. You are looking for platform nine and three quarters aren't you?"

She blinked up at him, and he stared at her in bewilderment, "Uh . . . yes."

"Excellent," Before he could duck away, she swooped in and latched onto his elbow, seeing as his hands were still unavailable. Then, to his horror, she began to drag him at full speed toward the brick barrier between platforms nine and ten.

He barely managed to grab his trunk in the process. The crazy fire-haired girl was about to collide with solid brick, and she was bent on taking him with her. He tried to dig his heels into the ground, but his efforts were futile in slippery, waterlogged shoes. She was surprisingly strong. Either that, or he was surprisingly weak. He decided he didn't want to think about the implications of such a conundrum when bodily harm and possible death were imminent.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but impact never came. When he finally opened them, he was standing on a crowded platform he had never seen before. This was definitely the platform he had been searching for. People in long robes were scurrying on and off of a large train, pulling trunks, cages and cauldrons. If that wasn't enough to convince him, the train itself broadcasted the words, "Hogwarts Express" clearly on its side.

He wheeled on the girl. She smirked, and he thought maliciously that her expression and the size of her ears made her look like a fruit bat. She now had a lovely wet mark on the side she clung to him. Then she was turning. Turning. Gone. Into the barrier they just came through. Good. The annoyance was over for now.

He looked again at the people milling around and recognized a few familiar faces. The brilliant platinum haired Malfoys were instantly recognizable. They were clumped together in a corner like a parasitic mass, undulating with motion, spreading and feeding off itself. He recognized the pinched countenance of Mrs. Black breaking away from the group. She was shoving a rather sullen looking youth with wild black hair toward the train. The fluffy haired boy caught his eyes, and for an instant his dejected frown turned into a shy grin.

He swivelled away quickly and faced the train.

He squared his shoulders and shoved through the crowd of people near the train, head down, eyes intent. He'd always hated crowds. In fact, he didn't like anything that involved humans gathering in large numbers. The smells and the sounds were always the same. Rank and loud. Everything that was completely nauseating. People. Sometimes he thought he just didn't like the species in general.

He finally made it to the train, and was happy to see there were still several empty compartments. The benefits of boarding early. He chose the one farthest to the back. The curtains on the window were a ghastly shade of pink and there was an odd shaped stain on the floor, but at least he was alone. The sounds of the crowd outside were muffled, and he sat, contented by the soft purr of the train beneath his feet. He was here, safely on his way. He was not going back.

He carefully stepped out of his shoes and tried to ring some of the water from his robe, but it did not remedy his shivers. He could feel a cold coming on. What a pleasant way to begin his Hogwarts experience. He pulled his hood over his face again and arranged himself into a shuddering black clump in the corner of the compartment. He started to drift, halfway between sleep and wakefulness, with the rumble of the train beneath his cheek.

It seemed like he barely closed his eyes when a commotion started up outside his compartment. A group of raucous soon-to-be students passed his compartment. Their laughter was shrill and piercing to his ears and every footfall was jolting. They mashed through the hallway like a herd of elephants, trumpeting and stomping and banging. He cracked upon one eye and peered through his hair. A boy stopped in his doorway, panting from all the running.

"What's that thing?" He shouted and pointed into the compartment. At him.

The others paused to look for a moment, but they lost interest quickly.

"Doesn't matter," One of them drawled, "Hey! What's that up there?"

And they thundered off again. He shut his eyes tighter. Until his head hurt from the effort.

He woke again to find someone nudging him. A small incessant hand on his shoulder. He snarled and opened his eyes, intent on throttling the disturber of his slumber. Or at least attempting it. He didn't expect to find himself face to face with the green-eyed fruit bat girl. His snarl soon turned into a yelp of surprise, and he tried to shrink away from her, only to find that the pipsqueak had him cornered.

The rhythm of the train beneath him had changed. The low murmur that had sung him to sleep was heavier and stronger now. They were moving. Traversing miles of lush, uninhabited landscape. He wondered how long he'd been asleep. How long had this girl been hoovering over him?

The girl recoiled in one fluid motion and retreated to the seat across from him, but her eyes still held him pinned to the spot, "You're a little jumpy, aren't you?"

She was looking at him and speaking to him tentatively, like she was trying to calm a spooked horse. It wasn't very flattering. He didn't say anything. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd leave.

"I brought you this," She held out a package containing a chocolate frog.

He glanced at the offering suspiciously. He was hungry enough to take it, but that would mean acknowledging her presence, and he wasn't about to give her an invitation to keep talking. He stared at the stain on the floor instead and decided that it looked like a vulture with its wings spread.

"It's a chocolate frog," She launched into one of her lengthy spiels, complete with interesting gesticulations, "I've just tried one. They're fantastic! All the food on this train is fantastic. Have you ever had one before, Chatty?"

He continued to trace the outline of the stain with his eyes. Now it looked like a teacup. Or a flower. With long curving petals. He couldn't think of the name for it. Of course he'd eaten chocolate frogs before. What did she take him for? A muggle-born?

She had that stamp all over her. From her cutesy little outfit, to her upsetting naivete when it came to common wizard candy. He had always been taught that there was nothing was more disgusting than muggle-borns. They didn't deserve to go to an exclusive place like Hogwarts, and this waif of a girl proved it. There was nothing deserving about someone so obnoxiously friendly.

Finally, after a long minute of silence she flung the package at him and successfully pegged his forehead, "Do you have a speech impediment or something?"

"No!" He snapped indignantly, huddling into his robe so that only the top half of his face was visible, "Do you have a zipper for that mouth?"

Instead of getting offended and leaving in a huff like he had hoped, she just shrugged, "Nope. And I don't think we've had a proper introduction yet. What's your name?"

He glowered stonily at her.

"I'll learn it eventually, so you might as well tell me now," She smiled in that batish way again and propped her sneaker clad feet up on the seat, "If you tell me, I promise I'll go away and leave you alone."

That was a done deal.

"It's Severus," He muttered.

"Thank you," She stood up and started to put her hand out, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment, "Well, it was nice meeting you Everest."

"Severus," He corrected her a bit louder this time.

"Severus?"

"Yes!" He barked, nearly toppling off on the seat.

"Oh, sorry Severus," She flounced out with one backward look over her shoulder, "And it's Lily by the way."

"What is?"

He glanced thoughtfully at the stain on the floor, but she was talking again.

"My name," And then she was gone, campfire hair, batty eyes and all.

He looked down at the chocolate frog in his lap and sighed. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. Too many perhapses. She was obviously no good for him.

But he ate the chocolate she had given him just the same. No point in wasting free chocolate.


	2. All About Snakes

Chapter Two - All About Snakes

A/N : Like a phoenix, I live again. Once again, sorry for any continuity mess-ups, but I'm not going to fix them because they aren't really that important. Snape/Lily drama is yet to come. I also promise this will move fairly quick to when he is older.For now, I'm setting up some story. And a bit of a different spin on the sorting hat . . .

Thanks to everyone who reviewed.

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"Snape, Severus." 

Professor McGonagall pronounced his name crisply, and he stepped forward, one of the last in the dwindling line of first years at the front of the hall. Everyone in the tables below stared up at him expectantly. His skin crawled, and his stomach leapt up into his throat. There on the three-legged stool sat the hat that would decide everything. Everything that was important to him in that moment.

He had already watched the sortings of the students before him. Sometimes the hat would barely touch a student's head and its decision would be made. Other times it seemed to think more carefully. He wasn't quite sure what went on during these times or how the process worked, but the hat seemed to know instinctively where each first year ought to be.

Cautiously, he approached the stool and sat down. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and plopped the ratty hat on his head, before he could think about whether it was a mistake to do so.

The dingy hat that smelled like an ancient sofa fell over his eyes and plunged his word into a rippling darkness. He could feel the hat sorting through the deepest parts of his head, and felt distinctly uncomfortable. Stripped. He twisted and squirmed, fighting the tickling sensation, but it was a battle he could not win. It wiggled into his skull like a worm into an apple core. A violation he could not seem to prevent.

He willed himself to take off the hat, but the impulse always seemed to melt away just before he could act upon it. His hands remained frozen on the sides of the stool. The terrible probing sensation continued in his mind. And then came the voice that seemed to be pulled from within him, but he knew it was the hat. Another presence beneath his barriers.

He felt naked.

'_I see ambition,'_ The voice purred, but he felt stung, _'I see an insatiable thirst for power, respect . . . acceptance. I also see intelligence. Yes, a vast, calculating, intellect. And an interesting sort of bravery. Not what most would call courage, but-_

He lashed out, a fierce crimson emotion bubbling to the surface, _'Put me in Slytherin, you moldy dishrag!'_

The hat paused for a moment, _'If that is what you wish, that is what you are.'_

The lusty bellow of, "Slytherin!" rang out across the great hall, but to Severus it seemed to be a distant echo outside the walls of his mind.

He couldn't wrench the repugnant hat off his greasy head fast enough. He flung it back on the stool with fumbling, twitching fingers and shied away as if it was a rabid animal, prone to biting. The hall seemed bright and fuzzy after the darkness of the hat, and he was more than a little shaken from the experience. He still heard that whispery voice inside his head, and the rest was a buzz. He barely registered the chorus of applause coming from the Slytherin table. Blinking like a disoriented nocturnal animal, he made his way to the faraway table of faint cheers. He was so dizzy it was a wonder he didn't trip down the steps.

When he reached the table, a sinister looking boy with a lopsided face stood up, "Welcome to Slytherin," He clapped him hardily on the back, knocking the remaining wind from his lungs and forcing his spindly frame into a seat, "You don't look so good."

Severus, who was indeed starting to feel slightly nauseous, sank down til his chin rested on his arms and muttered darkly. Something that sounded like, "Mind rape."

"The hat's not so bad," The lopsided boy shrugged, and continued on to more important topics, "Anyway, I'm Lawrence Lacrem, and this is Linda, Narcissa, and Joseph. We're all in our second year, so we can show you around a bit if you'd like."

Severus managed to spit out his name and a small squeak of a hello before his stomach turned again, and he had to clamp his hand over his mouth. The other four looked at him curiously, but he put his head down, so they continued the conversation they had been having before he showed up, as if he wasn't there.

He _never_ wanted to have another experience like that, ever again. It was like another visit to the muggle doctor's office. His father, being a muggle, had always insisted that each family member should visit a _certified_ physician every year, and not some deluded crackpot with a wand and a jar of dried cockroaches. His mother, who had never been much more than a doormat, simply did as he comanded.

This was how Severus learned that 'certified' was a subjective word. Muggle doctors were abhorrent. He much preferred the fast and easy treatment provided by the wand waving crackpots, but nobody was interested in his opinions. His parents had to forcibly push him into the office at every checkup, but they always managed to overpower him in the end. He would come dressed in five layers of clothing, and he still remembered the way he used to shriek and scream whenever the nurses tried to remove even a stitch of fabric. He hated being undressed even more than the poking and the prodding. He had repressed most of those memories now, until he could only remember the way he'd cried. And his shame. The deep, inexorable shame of being exposed.

Gradually, his nausea from the hat ebbed away, and he glanced furtively at the other three tables in the hall. A group of 5th year Hufflepuff girls was distributing a series of hugs to every new arrival at their table, and the Ravenclaws were exchanging handshakes and pats on the back. He spotted the brilliant red hair of the strange girl he met on the train. She was chatting comfortably with a friendly looking crowd of Griffendors. The boy who had smiled at him on the platform was there too, being introduced to everyone at the table. A Black in Griffendor. Mrs. Black would be scandalized.

His thoughts returned to his own table. He was a Slytherin at long last. The house for the clever and cunning. He liked to think of himself as cunning. He liked to think of himself as continuing a sacred family legacy. The fact that he had to command the hat to place him was slightly troublesome. But he didn't want to think about the hat anymore. Surely, it wouldn't have put him in any other house. The other houses were too warm and friendly. He didn't like warm and friendly. And he definitely did not like hugging.

Slytherin was his territory now, and Slytherins hated Hufflepuffs, they hated Ravenclaws, and most especially, they hated Griffendors. He looked again at the table bedecked in cheerful red and gold. Stupid, jovial Griffendors. What right did they have to be so happy? Of course, they were the favored house. The headmaster himself came from illustrious, noble, Griffendor. He resented them already.

Even that Lily girl. That muggle-born belonged with the bleeding hearts.

Further up his table he recognized the sixth year named Lucius Malfoy having an animated conversation with a posse of followers. He spoke with a snide curl in his upper lip, and his subjects seemed to hang on his every word. Severus had met Lucius over the summer in Diagon alley. The blonde boy was brutally handsome. There was a frozen beauty in his sharp profile and a coercing darkness in his lucid eyes. The other Slytherins were powerless to resist. Snakes to the charmer. Severus didn't feel compelled at the moment.

He couldn't hear the details of their conversation, but he heard the words, "Squealed like a pig," and then a roar of hissing laughter.

"He's _so_ cute," Linda whispered to Narcissa.

Narcissa was a delicate blonde girl who looked like a ballerina. More so than usual when she was sitting beside Linda's substantial frame. She threw her head back and laughed, a very indelicate, sneering laugh at those words, "I don't think _cute_ is the right word Linda."

Privately Severus agreed, but he didn't think he'd agree with any word Narcissa would use either. Especially given the fact that her pretty face crumpled into a very unpleasant scowl when she saw that Lucius was busy carrying on with a dark-haired girl who looked to be more his own age. He was starting to wish he didn't have to be privy to this scene any longer, but there was nowhere else to sit at the packed table.

"I thought Bellatrix was going out with Rudolphus," Linda looked at Narcissa for confirmation, "Damn. Your sister gets around."

"She can't seem to make up her mind," Narcissa grumbled, "She doesn't want one flavor. She wants Neopolitan. They'd both leave her be if they knew what was good for them."

Indeed the boy on Malfoy's other side, who looked like the living embodiment of an icicle, didn't seem to find his flirting with Bellatrix at all amusing. That could only be Rudolphus. At least Severus was learning names this way. He went over them in his head, memorizing. Bellatrix. _Tease_. Lucius. _Dangerous_. Rudolphus. _Spineless_. He'd remember them.

The headmaster stood up and signaled for quiet. A hush fell over the Great Hall. Severus noticed that Lucius was still carrying on a whispered conversation with a Bellatrix under the steadfast glare of Rudolphus. She laughed softly and tossed her head, purposely making her golden earrings dance in the lights of the hall. Malfoy was looking at her like a starving wolf watching a motherless fawn, and she was enjoying it.

Dumbledore made his speech, during which, he never had Lucius's attention and welcomed all the first years. They sang the Hogwarts song. Severus wasn't going to sing at all, but Lawrence and his group persuaded him to join them in a rousing chorus to the tune of "The Ride of Valkries." It waseasy to let his voice be drowned out by the others.

Then the food arrived. Everybody around him tucked in with enthusiasm, but Severus sulked. He squished his mashed potatoes to a pulp with the underside of his spoon. He jabbed listlessly at his peas and herded them around his plate into the slice of roast beef. He cut the meat into perfect squares with his fork and glommed it in with the potatoes. Then he mixed until he had made a lovely whitish paste. Linda turned, gave him a look of disgust, and averted her eyes.

Nothing could tempt his appetite. Not even all the scrumptious desserts when they appeared. He felt hollow, and he didn't know why. Hogwarts was supposed to fill the space, not make it bigger. What was this hunger for belonging that still burned fiercely in his chest?

He trailed at the back of the line of first years being led to the Slytherin common room, still nursing a growing feeling of discontent. His old friend, loneliness had not stayed back at the train station. Somehow it had followed him and sat heavily on his shoulders, even in the swelling crowd. His classmates seemed to have become infused with merriment, but he couldn't find the same feelings inside himself.

The dungeons smelled metallic and sound clinked off the walls like pinballs in a machine. The first years were beginning to whisper and point with more anticipation now. The older students seemed to find this quite amusing. Lucius was already busy telling a pack of first year girls that they had a real live mummy living under one of the couches that sometimes bit off people's toes while his friends sniggered derisively to themselves.

When they reached the common room, he took it in with one glance. He did not join the revelry that started up, but instead, he slouched up the stairs to his dorm, avoiding conversation with anybody who tried to waylay him. He found his truck already there next to one of the four poster beds with emerald green hangings.

Without even bothering to change out of his new robe, he flopped onto the bed and sank into the pillowy goose down comforter. He'd never felt anything so soft in his entire life. With a slight smile nudging at the corners of his mouth, he pressed his face and fingertips into the squashy material and lay there breathing it in for what seemed like ages. It smelled like fresh laundry and peppermint.

Sleep would not come, so he lay with his eyes open, thinking. All his life he'd believed this school would make him magically happy. His life would suddenly become wonderful in an instant, and he wouldn't suffer any longer. His old wounds would fade away into a mist of the forgotten past, and here he would be talented. Here he would be worth something.

But now he saw that he was no more special than anybody else at Hogwarts. If anything, he would be just as much of an outcast here as he was at any of his other schools. Wizardry wouldn't make him adept at social conduct. Wizardry wouldn't make him handsome or likeable. Wizardry wouldn't make him happy either. The only thing he could hope for was power. Power enough to make people respect him, even if nobody could ever like him. There had to be some way to become powerful.

This thought was so warm and sweet smelling that he wrapped it around himself and closed his eyes at last. When he was powerful, the first thing he would do was make everybody who had ever hurt him pay for their actions. He would turn his father into a mongoose and his mother into a snake and watch them destroy each other. Then he'd set fire to that horrid hat, and anybody who dared to laugh at him.

He felt a small twinge of trepidation as more malevolent thoughts popped into his head unbidden, and abruptly cleared them away. It wasn't right to think such things, no matter how pleasing it was.

But what was right and what was wrong anyway? Lucius didn't seem to think anything was wrong, and Severus craved the attention Lucius received, more than food or oxygen. There was nothing to be done about this desire for the moment, so he lay in the silence and craved.

When at last he slept, he dreamt of a boy with leaping green eyes. They were familiar eyes, but he couldn't recall why, and when he woke the next day, the dream was already forgotten.


End file.
